Speaking of, I glance toward the door. “Where is he?”
“Sleeping down the hall. He wanted to sleep on the couch, but I insisted he gets real rest or he’d be no good tomorrow, especially after sleeping in a chair in your hospital room these past few nights.”
“He could have slept here with me.”
“Oh no, no. He said he’d hate to accidentally knock you or injure you.” She sits up. “You’re recovering so well.” Reaching for the soup, she hands me a mug. “Would it be easier to sip some chicken broth since you’re in bed?”
I take the mug. The broth is good and warms my insides. Looking at April, I say, “Alexander said you’ve been staying here a few weeks. Are you settled in?”
“Yes. Alexander has been so gracious.”
“How have you been?”
“I went through rehab and now I’m participating in an outpatient program. I feel good. My head is finally clear. I’ve missed this feeling.”
Seeing her smile so easily after all she’s been through is encouraging. Our situations may be different, but we’re both recovering from life-altering circumstances. “I’m happy for you.”
“Thanks,” she says, with a light laugh. “I am too.”
Another knock draws our attention. The night nurse enters. “I’m glad to see you up. I have your medication.”
April stands. “I should let you rest.”
“Thank you for the soup.”
“You’re welcome. I’ll see you in the morning.”
After I finish with the nurse, I settle into the big bed alone, and I hate it. We’ve spent months apart. Too many nights without his arms around me, and I don’t want to be without Alexander any longer. I need him wrapped around me. Shuffling out of the room, I take it slow, each step aggravating, but not stopping me.
I look down the hallway to a sea of doorways. How many bedrooms does this place have again? Twelve? Ten? Twenty? Seven doors between the staircase going down and the end of the hall. Only one wing of the manor, and it feels like it can swallow me whole.
Knowing my sweet Alexander, he’s nearby, so I try the first door. His sleeping body is on top of the covers highlighted with moonlight streaming through the open curtains. I carefully approach, not wanting to wake him, and admire him up close without that look of worry on his handsome face that I’ve seen too often lately.
I walk around the bed, my hand lightly holding my stitched side. Despite the pain, I can’t stop my smile, my love, my heart from bursting in my chest just looking at him. It’s not the reunion I expected, but it’s one I happily take.
God, he’s gorgeous. I hadn’t forgotten, but seeing him now at peace, it reminds me how much my heart yearned for him. My breath catches when he rolls to his back. The tattoo that covers a good quarter of his chest is visible, the firefly forever marking his skin, forever holding me close to his heart. His eyes open, and he sits up suddenly. “Firefly?”
The tips of my fingers touch him lightly and the tension falls away from his muscles. “Shhh. Sleep, my love.”
“Why are you up? Do you need something?”
“Only you.”
The muscles of his biceps are shadowed in the dips, the bulge of hard work garnering my attention, but competing equally with his abdominal muscles. He’s never lacked definition but it seems he stepped up his regime in the time I was away. “Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine. I miss you.”
He turns and in one smooth motion, he’s on his feet, our bodies inches apart. After kissing my head, he takes my hands and asks, “Want me to carry you back to bed?”
I look down. I hate to burden him, but I feel . . . not myself these days. Embarrassed, I confess, “I feel so gross, Alexander. It’s like hospital germs are stuck to me. I feel dirty and I smell.”
“You were tired when we got home, but let me help you. Let me bathe you.”
“What?”
“I want to be here however you need me. I want to make you feel good. Let me help.”
“I was told not to take a bath for a few weeks.”
“Then I’ll shower you.” His lips press to mine. “With kisses.” Sliding the bridge of his nose along my cheekbone, he whispers in my ear, “With love.” Dragging his hands slowly down my body, avoiding all wounds, but continuing—feeling me, caressing me, tempting me—my body reacts, goosebumps trailing behind the tips of his fingers.
“You make me want things I can’t have.”
“You have them. You have me whenever you’re ready.”
Leaning my head against his cheek, I caress the other. “I love you.”
“I love you.” He wraps his arm under the back of my knees and the other behind my back. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You never do.”
I’m lifted slowly and lean my head on his shoulder. Even if it did hurt, I would never tell him. I relish the closeness too much. “It’s been so long since you’ve held me.” I breathe him in. “I’ve missed you. So much.”
“Not more than I missed you.”
He carries me back to our room, and into the en suite. I’m set down as gently as I was picked up and he starts the shower. “Do you need help undressing?”
“Would you like to help?” I might sound too hopeful, but I need his hands on me. I need to know he’s still attracted to me. Beyond the bandages. The obligation to take care of me. Does he still see me, the real me beneath the damage? Will he want me? The long journey of recovery is daunting. Do I have a right to ask him to take this journey with me?
A smile appears—a little naughty, a lot nice—and he replies, “Always,” setting my soul on fire.
Always.
His hands cover my shoulders and he looks at me. “You’re beautiful. So goddamn beautiful, Firefly.” How did he know I needed to hear those words? Has the physical damage broken me mentally?
I know he could never love another—broken physically or emotionally—he shows me his love, and I’ll forever give him mine as long as we both shall live.
A deep breath is taken, filling his chest before he blows it out as if he’s losing control. Finding the hem of my shirt, he raises it. I lift my arms enough for him to weave it away from my body. It’s tossed to the floor while his eyes roam over every inch of my torso. Bandages are taped where I had surgery. They’ll need to be replaced after the shower, but the nurse is down the hall to help if needed.
With his hands on my hips, he drops to his knees. The bruising extends across my stomach and on my arms, but he’s not looking at that. I don’t think he even sees it. Leaning forward, he closes his eyes and kisses my stomach. Tears spring to my eyes while my hands wind into his hair. “Alexander,” slips from my lips through a sob.
“Don’t cry.” He looks up just as tears slide down his face.